Cora saw the genuine pain in his face. She moved back in beside him, slipping her arm companionably through his and squeezing up against his side, to show he was forgiven . . . for the moment.
“But why did I hear her name out of nowhere, over a station loudspeaker?” she said. “A name I never heard before but that meant so much to you? There must be a reason!”
“I’m not so sure you did hear a name,” said Alan. “It was probably just some sound that your mind interpreted as a name. Just . . . coincidence.”
Cora shook her head. “I just happened to hear a name that no one else heard? A name that means so much to you? I don’t think so, sweetie. This has to mean something!”
There was another announcement. Everyone stopped to listen, and then a whole section of the crowd surged forward, heading for a particular platform. A train had come in at last. Alan and Cora went with them. Thinking only about getting home, at last.
* * * *
Later, sitting at their ease in their comfortable lounge, Cora hit Alan with question after question about Elena Marsh. He tried to hide behind his book and fob her off with grunts and monosyllabic answers, but she was having none of that. She sat curled up in her favorite chair, a small thing in a big armchair, hugging her knees to her chest. Cora was small and petite, with long blond hair, big blue eyes, and a pale pink mouth that always seemed to be smiling. Alan frequently wondered what he’d done right to win such a prize.
“Why did you never mention this Elena before?” said Cora, pressing the subject relentlessly.
“I wanted to forget her,” said Alan.
“Why?”
“I left her . . . walked out on her when her work led her out of the more extreme borderlands of science and into mad thoughts and bad places.”
“What kind of work?” said Cora.
“She worked at a privately funded think tank,” said Alan. He closed his book and put it down, admitting defeat. “That’s where we met. Elena was a scientific researcher, and I was in administration. It was one of those places where radical thinkers were encouraged to experiment outside the box. Trouble was, some of the scientists ended up so far outside it, they couldn’t get back in again. Elena isn’t the only one that place ruined.”
“What happened to her?” said Cora, peering unblinkingly at him over bony knees hugged tightly to her chest.
“Elena was researching into—and then became obsessed with—immortality,” said Alan. “Not philosophy; she was looking for a practical means to a practical end. You see, Elena was afraid of dying.”
“Isn’t everyone?” said Cora.
“Not like Elena,” said Alan. “The whole idea of death simply . . . offended her. That her life could be arbitrarily cut short for any number of reasons before she was finished with it made her incandescently angry. She considered death a basic design fault in life and was determined to put it right . . . by force, if necessary.” He paused, picking his words carefully, as he tried to put across an argument he wasn’t sure he’d ever properly understood. “Elena ended up becoming convinced that it might be possible to live on, maybe even forever, through the transmigration of souls.”
“Souls?” said Cora. “I thought you said she was a scientist?”
“I told you,” said Alan. “Her work drove her crazy.”
Cora looked at him for a long moment. “Did she . . . ever get anywhere? With her work?”
“Of course not!” said Alan. “And her failure to achieve anything practical drove her out of her mind. I had to get out before she drove me crazy too.”
“And then you found me,” said Cora.
“Yes,” said Alan. He smiled at her. “And you were everything I ever wanted.”
Cora got up out of her chair, hurried over, and curled up in his lap, in his arms. She cuddled up against his chest and laid her head on his shoulder. He breathed in the perfume from her hair and was quietly content.
“So,” Cora said finally. “Where is Elena now?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,” Alan said firmly.
But Cora wasn’t ready to let it go. She had become intrigued, and Alan knew her well enough to know when something caught hold of her imagination, she would never let go of it until she was satisfied. She kissed him quickly on the forehead, jumped up out of his lap, and went looking for her laptop. She sat down at the table, fired up her computer, and went to work searching the Net. Her short, stubby fingers stabbed determinedly at the keyboard as she searched through site after site, in pursuit of the elusive Elena Marsh.
In the end, Alan gave up on his book and went to help her. Because he knew he wouldn’t get any peace until he did. They sat side by side at the table, taking it in turns to suggest things and work the keyboard. Alan was able to narrow down the many Elena Marshes on offer through biographical details, personal reminiscences, and finally the name of the think tank itself: the Tiresias Institute. It turned out the think tank had been shut down some time before. No official reason given. Cora was able to dig up an old video file showing Elena at an Institute staff party. It was time-stamped eighteen months before, and Alan leaned forward in his chair despite himself as Elena filled the screen. She was tall and dark-haired, tight-bodied and packed full of nervous energy. She had a drink in one hand and a roll-up in the other, and she was laughing loudly. Alan flinched, and a cold shudder ran through him. He remembered that laugh, that fierce, crazy laugh. One of the things he prized most in Cora was that she never laughed like that. Never laughed at all.
And then they discovered why the Institute closed. There had been a scandal. A scientist committed suicide in the main lab. And, of course, it was Elena. There weren’t many details; she had taken poison, there were no signs of foul play, nothing to show anyone else was involved. No photo of the body was available, for which Alan was quietly grateful. Cora slipped her arm through his.
“You poor sweetie. Your old girlfriend is dead. How do you feel?”
“Sad, mostly,” said Alan. He felt oddly numb. “That she died so young. That she wasted her life, and all the things she could have done and been, because she was so obsessed with death. Does it say whether she left a note?”
“Let me check. . . . Yes! A mysterious note, in fact, found lying beside the body. There’s a hell of a lot of discussion threads about it.”
“Really?” said Alan. “Why?”
“Because it’s a riddle!” Cora leaned forward till her nose was almost touching the screen, scowling at the image. “It says . . . ‘Death is not the end. I have found an answer. Come and look for it. You’ll find what I discovered above the sea, under the fish.’ ” Cora sat back in her chair. “What the hell does that mean? How can you be above the sea but still under the fish?”
Alan sat there for a long moment, quietly amazed. “I think I know,” he said finally. “I think I know what that means.”
Cora turned sharply around on her chair to look at him. “Really? You clever old sweetie! What does it mean?”
“Elena and I once spent a holiday weekend in Devon, at an old cottage,” said Alan. “Dolphin Cottage is set high on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Devon coast. It was one of the last times we were really happy together.”
“Then that’s where the answer must be!” said Cora. “We have to go there!”
“I’m not sure I want to go,” said Alan. “Not sure I want to know. Whatever she discovered, it drove her to suicide.”
“We have to go,” said Cora. “Because I want to know all there is to know about the woman I replaced in your life.”
* * * *
They drove down to Devon. The journey took hours. Dolphin Cottage wasn’t on any map, so the satnav couldn’t help. Alan found he only remembered part of the way, so Cora spent most of the trip hunched over a series of maps. They didn’t talk much. Almost against his will, Alan was remembering more and more about Elena. Her crazy laugh and her fiercely passionate mind. Especially when it came to her work. He never did say a proper g
ood-bye to her, because he just couldn’t face another angry scene with that woman. She never wanted to let go of anything she considered hers. Like him. Alan had always been a little surprised, and quietly relieved, that she’d never come after him. Of course, now he knew why.
He couldn’t understand why someone so afraid of dying would end up taking her own life. It didn’t make sense. But then, people can always surprise you.
When they finally reached the old cottage, standing alone on its gray rocky clifftop, the last of the day’s light was fading away. The cottage looked much as Alan remembered, so much so he was actually reluctant to knock on the door, in case Elena answered it. Or her ghost. In the end, Cora had to knock for him. The cottage’s current owner turned out to be a stooped old man with a crooked back, long stringy gray hair, and a coolly polite manner. Johnny Hilton was dressed very casually, and seemed happy enough to greet unexpected visitors.
“I bought this cottage last year, at auction,” he said. “Never heard of this Elena Marsh . . . or this mysterious message of hers. But I suppose you can come inside and look around, if you want.”
The interior was dark and gloomy, all small rooms and low ceilings. Nothing like the light and airy holiday cottage Alan remembered. Cora stuck close to his side as he looked uncertainly about him.
“The message,” she said, prompting him. “You said you understood how something could be above the waters but under the fish? I saw the coastline below, so obviously that’s the water. And Dolphin Cottage is the fish. But how . . .”
“There’s a concealed door,” said Alan. “It leads down to a cellar. Is the door still there, Mister Hilton?”
“Johnny, please. I never looked for any hidden door. Point it out to me and we’ll go take a look.”
The door was still there, hidden away behind a tall bookcase with dusty, empty shelves. Alan and Johnny manhandled the bookcase out of the way easily enough while Cora bounced up and down on her toes with excitement. The door wasn’t locked. It opened to reveal a narrow stone stairway dropping away into darkness. Alan and Cora had to wait while Johnny went to look for a flashlight. When he came back, Alan insisted on taking the flashlight and leading the way down. He was still bothered by the idea of ghosts. Things left over, from the past.
They ended up in a stone cellar some distance underneath the cottage; it was crammed full of strange machines and unfamiliar equipment. Alan moved slowly forward, peering about him. Johnny found a light switch by the door and harsh fluorescent light filled the cellar, illuminating odd shapes and weird technology that Alan didn’t even recognize, let alone understand. None of it made any sense to him, and some of it actually hurt his eyes when he looked at it. And two chairs stood side by side. Topped with gleaming steel helmets.
“I don’t remember any of this,” he said. “None of this was here the last time. . . .”
And then someone struck him down from behind; and he was unconscious before he hit the floor.
* * * *
When Alan woke up, he was sitting in one of the chairs. His head ached, but when he tried to raise a hand to it, he found he couldn’t. He’d been strapped firmly in place with heavy leather restraints. And he could feel, even if he couldn’t see, that the steel helmet had been placed on his head. He looked around and there was Cora, strapping Johnny Hilton into the other chair. She looked around suddenly, caught him looking at her, and laughed at him. An old, cold, and very familiar hand gripped Alan’s heart. He knew that fierce, crazy laugh. He remembered it.
“My God,” he said. “You’re not Cora. You’re Elena.”
“Got it in one,” she said. And just like that, she didn’t sound like Cora anymore. She turned away from him to carefully lower the steel helmet onto Johnny’s head. She fussed over it, taking her time, before turning back to Alan again. “Yes. I’m Elena. You really should have stuck around to see me finish my work. The wonderful machines I created at Tiresias, with the help of my colleague here, Professor John Hilton. Turned out I was right all along; with a little technological assistance, the transfer of minds, if not souls, is perfectly feasible. Immortality at last, and in an entirely practical manner.”
She moved away from the chairs to stand before a control panel. “Johnny helped me transform my theories into hard science. He has a marvelous mind. He made all of this possible.”
“How long?” said Alan. “How long have you been . . .”
“I put my mind into Cora’s body before you ever met her,” said Elena. “I found a face and a body I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist, and then I took it for myself. And went after you. Alan, darling, did you really think I’d just let you go? Let you walk away from me? You never met Cora. It’s always been me. You’ve been married to me all along.”
A sick horror surged through Alan. His whole marriage had been a lie. The woman he’d thought he was sharing his life and his bed with had been someone else entirely. Cora never laughed because inside, Elena was laughing at him all the time. And because . . . he’d know her laugh. Alan couldn’t believe he never once suspected that his new love . . . was the old love he’d run away from.
“What happened to the real Cora?” he said finally.
“She’s gone,” Elena said easily. “I poisoned my old body before the transfer, so she had nowhere to go. And now you’re going too. Although I was so desperate to get you back, although I went through all this just so I could have you . . . I hate to say it, Alan, but you turned out to be such a disappointment. Now, Johnny here has a far superior mind. And once I put that mind into your body, I’ll have everything I ever wanted.”
“I loved you,” said Alan.
“Of course,” said Elena. “You always did.”
“How long have you been planning this?”
“Months.”
“Why wait so long?”
“It took time to understand you and give up hoping you’d become what I wanted you to be,” said Elena. “And then it took time for Johnny to calibrate the machinery. But finally everything was ready, and all I had to do was fake hearing my own name on a loudspeaker so I could start the ball rolling.”
Her hands moved steadily, almost casually, across the control panels. And all Alan could do was watch her helplessly, unable to move a muscle inside the leather restraints. There was a flash of unbearably bright light, filling his head from the inside out, and then he was somewhere else.
* * * *
When he could see again, he was standing in an unnatural place made up of mists and broken ground. Everywhere he looked, the world seemed vague and indistinct. Gray mists swirled slowly around him, full of bodiless voices, calling out. Mourning, angry, desperate . . . Here and there, shadows moved through the mists, searching for . . . something. Not all of the shapes seemed entirely human.
Johnny Hilton appeared suddenly out of the mists in front of Alan. He didn’t look old or crippled anymore. Alan braced himself, but Johnny didn’t even try to fight him. Instead, he tried to go around him. And Alan just knew Johnny was heading for his abandoned body so he could climb inside it. And be Alan for Elena. Alan grabbed hold of Johnny, and the body felt perfectly normal under his hands. Johnny fought fiercely to break free, but Alan hung on grimly. He wrestled the other man to the ground and held him there. Not because he was stronger than Johnny, or a better fighter, but because he wanted to live more. Because he wanted his revenge on Elena. He pinned Johnny to the ground, pushing his face into the broken earth . . . and then wondered what he should do next.
He looked up, and there was Cora, standing before him. Smiling at him. And it only took Alan a moment to recognize this was the real Cora. He started to think about what that meant, about her and the place he was in now, and then he made himself stop thinking. Cora drifted forward, out of the mists, becoming more real and more solid the closer she got, until finally she knelt down beside Alan and Johnny. She nodded to Alan, and he nodded back. He understood. He let go of Johnny and stood up, and Cora put her arms around Johnny. He cr
ied out at her touch and tried to fight her, but she held him where he was. She had been in the gray place so much longer, and it had made her so much stronger. Alan backed slowly away. Cora laughed quietly. It sounded nothing like Elena’s laugh.
* * * *
Alan woke up in his own body, still strapped helplessly in his chair, but still himself. He watched Elena as she bent over Johnny. He was convulsing and crying out in his chair while Elena laughed at him. And then he died. Elena stepped back from him and shrugged briefly. She looked across at Alan, and smiled as she saw he was watching her.
“I didn’t expect your old body to die, but it doesn’t matter. I’m a little disappointed that Alan didn’t end up trapped in your crippled old body, but then . . . You can’t have everything.”
Alan just nodded, not trusting his voice to sound like Johnny. Elena came over and quickly removed the steel helmet from his head before freeing him from the leather restraints. Alan stepped carefully out of the chair and stretched slowly. Pulling on his body again, like an old pair of gloves. And then he looked round quickly, at something behind Elena.
“What the fuck was that?”
Elena turned to look, and Alan struck her down from behind.
He stood over her unconscious body for a while, thinking many things. And then he picked her up and strapped her into the chair he’d just vacated. He put the helmet on her head, and moved away to stand before the control panels. He was pretty sure he knew what to do. He’d watched Elena do it, and it seemed straightforward enough. Elena woke up in her chair, struggled fiercely for a moment, and then glared at Alan.
“It’s you!” she said. “Not Johnny!”
“No,” said Alan. “Not Johnny.”
“You can’t do this to me!”
“I think you’ll find I can.”
Elena looked at Johnny’s dead body, still slumped in its chair. “You can’t use the machine on me with him dead. There’s nowhere for me to go.”
“That’s the idea,” said Alan.
“You can’t kill me,” said Elena. “I’m your wife. You love me.”
What the #@&% Is That? Page 7